


Te Aviso,  Te Anuncio (Objection - Tango)

by malu (orphan_account)



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/malu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He hears, but he doesn’t listen, because all over sudden, his entire attention has turned to Cristiano’s eyes, seeing something unreadable there that he hasn’t seen before and when he feels his stomach clench once again, his skin suddenly covered in gooseflesh, all nerve cells of his body seemingly gathered on the square inch of skin where Cris is still touching him, that’s when the understanding crashes over him like a tidal wave.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Te aviso, te anuncio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [994527](https://archiveofourown.org/users/994527/gifts).



> ♥  
> There might be more chapters, but I won't promise anything at this point.
> 
> Let me know what you think?! Please :)

Sergio doesn’t realize it. Not for a long time. Later, he will wonder how he could ever miss it, because once he finds out, it is all suddenly so obvious. But until then, he remains oblivious, his mind too preoccupied with football and girls. Or girls and football. When Cris first arrived, Sergio was kind, open, approachable. And he stayed that way, but he also always kept a distance. Not consciously, but just because he somehow didn’t really know what to do with Cris, that genius of a player, just his age and only short of the important titles because he came from the wrong country. They don’t seem to have much in common. And Sergio thinks about the how and why of that without noticing, he analyzes the striker more than he’s ever done with any other teammate, focuses on him more during practice and games than he should – but he cannot stop because it’s never intentional. It’s some inner demon that keeps him watching every step the Portuguese player takes, his eyes mesmerized by the way he plays, his breath sometimes hitching when his shirt slides up, his stomach in a knot when he takes his clothes off in the changing room. But somehow, Sergio doesn’t realize it. Maybe it’s because the idea of feeling anything like that for a teammate is beyond imaginable. Maybe it’s simply because Cris is a man. Or maybe, somewhere deep down, he does notice, but is too terrified to allow the thought to be processed.

*

Cristiano does realize it. And he will never forget the exact second where realization strikes him like lightning, because it happens the very first time they meet as teammates. Cris falls the second that his eyes meet Sergio’s; the same second that Sergio’s scent first starts lingering in his nose, that the touch of Sergio’s hand patting his shoulder burns his skin and sends a feeling thousands of prickly needles through his nerves. He cannot do anything to prevent himself from falling further and further, because he cannot escape Sergio. They’re on the same team, they meet daily, he cannot escape the look of Sergio’s body that resembles a Greek statue or that glowing, golden skin. Neither can he not see Sergio’s face, full of concentration and passion, always with that unreadable spark of something in his eyes. The strands of hair that somehow never can be tamed, no matter how much Sergio tries. No, Cristiano cannot get away from him and it makes his heart ache, makes his stomach twist and his head dizzy. At the same time though, he wouldn’t want to miss a thing of it, because even if he has to observe from a safe distance, he’d rather be here, with Sergio, platonically admiring him, than being confined to watch the Spaniard on TV. There’s something addictive about him, something they should have warned Cris about – but they didn’t, because apparently, he’s the only one who sees it. At the end of the day, he is Ronaldo, he’s worth his money and he will just about manage to keep his emotions in check, to keep his focus on the game just enough to outperform the rest of them – and then he’ll keep secretly watching, burning the memories to his brain. Memories he will allow to resurface in the lonely night in his apartment when his hand finds his cock almost automatically and the Gypsy’s name falls from his lips once his body surrenders to Sergio’s beauty or in the secret encounter with the men he and women he indulges in on free nights, where he keeps his eyes shut, where his head replaces his partner’s image with that of Sergio almost immediately and where he bites his lip until it bleeds to prevent himself from moaning or crying out the Sevillan’s name.

*

It’s one of the still cool days in March where things change. Not that Sergio could ever put his finger on the moment or the reason. There was no difference from normal routines, it was the same training ground, the same exercises, the same people. They were in the same team gear. Smelling as always. Obviously not drunk or otherwise intoxicated. He was just in a practice match and somehow at some point, collided with Cris, their bodies clashing rather roughly and both of them sitting on the grass, rubbing their heads. He’s just about to ask Cris if he’s okay when Cris’s hand reaches out, thumb running over his forehead and he hears the Portuguese’s concerned voice muttering something about blood. He hears, but he doesn’t listen, because all over sudden, his entire attention has zoned in to Cristiano’s eyes, seeing something unreadable there that he hasn’t seen before and when he feels his stomach clench once again, his skin suddenly covered in gooseflesh, all nerve cells of his body seemingly gathered on the square inch of skin where Cris is still touching him, that’s when the understanding crashes over him like a tidal wave. He never answers to whatever Cris is saying, he never replies to Iker who has appeared out of nowhere, asking about his head, he just keeps his eyes on Cris and for an instant he thinks Cris understands as well – before his vision gets blurry and his back hits the floor.

*

Of course Cris asks about Sergio’s condition. They all do. And just a small concussion, only a night under surveillance is good news and of course he is relieved. But he cannot concentrate on the pleasant feeling of his teammate being more or less okay, how could he after that moment where their eyes had met and he’d suddenly been so sure that Sergio knows. And not just knows, there’d been an instant where Cris would have sworn Sergio feels the same. But then, he tells his brain, rationality winning the better of him, Sergio must have been dizzy from the concussion and probably the way Sergio had looked just then was nothing to go by. He tries shaking off the thoughts, tries to rinse them off under the shower, yet, he cannot help the tinge of sadness, the flicker of disappointment, because, as brief as it was, it had been a moment of hope and he finds it difficult to return to his old state, where he had accepted his destiny as secret admirer. The evening turns into a long one, with too much wine, ending in one of those nights where all the images he saves so carefully during the days crawl back into his head and where Sergio’s name echoes through his bedroom. Only that this night, his heart breaks a little more than usual over the knowledge that his dreams are impossible.

_Nunca pensé que doliera el amor así_  
 _Cuándo se entierra en el medio de un no y un sí_


	2. Mariposas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much for the feedback until here ♥  
> Here's another bit and I think there will be more :)  
> (More "Sernando" tomorrow, I hope.)

_Mariposas cuando estoy contigo_

Things revert to how they used to be after the incident. At least, the visible things. Only that in the back of his head, Sergio cannot forget these moments where it had felt…well, he hates admitting it, but it had felt as if he had a crush on Cristiano Ronaldo. Which would, in fact, explain a lot. It would be a reason why he’s been having problems taking his eyes off of the new striker during practice sessions or even in the dressing room. Why he keeps feeling unusually self-conscious around the other. Why he even pays attention to what he wears, how he smells. That’s never happened to Sergio before though, not with a teammate and not with a man and he tries to brush it off, tries to tell himself that he’s been imagining things, that it’s been the concussion. But, a quiet voice in the back of his head whispers, he’s felt all of that even before he hit his head. All of that and that strange clenching of his stomach when Cris gets near him, it’s all signs that he has a crush on his teammate. Still, as that is an obvious impossibility, he is quick at shaking it off of his mind whenever it pops up, quickly distracting himself with something. Yet, he hasn’t slept well a single night since that, not because of a headache or anything but simply because he keeps seeing Cris in front of him and it’s wrong and disturbing and at the same time, it feels strangely nice and exciting.

*

As much as he tries, things don’t go back to how they were. Not for Cristiano anyway. He knows that for Sergio, it’s like nothing happened. _Because, obviously, NOTHING HAS HAPPENED._ Cris has apologized, awkwardly, because he felt strangely responsible, even if it had been just an accident and he has needed all of his self-control not to reach out and trace the healing wound on Sergio’s forehead, or, even worse idea, press a kiss to it. With a bit of biting his own lip, he’s managed to hold himself back, hugged the defender casually, gotten the obligatory “Don’t worry, not your fault” in return, which he’d known but still felt good to hear. Nothing happened that wouldn’t be completely natural between teammates. All the difference to before lies in that tiny spark of hope he had felt when their eyes had met and Cris had thought he’d seen his own feelings mirrored in the defender’s face. Well, that had definitely just been wishful thinking, because by now, Sergio is just as casual and distantly-friendly as before and, without any real reason or validation, it makes Cris angry. It’s nothing Sergio does purposefully, nothing he could blame the Sevillan for, but it makes him so frustrated that the other – as unconsciously as it certainly was has given him that little bit of hope only to drag it away from under his feet right again. His nightly fantasies are happening more and more often, pretty much daily by now and they’re growing increasingly rough and desperate, up to the point where he realizes he is blinking against tears during the whole thing. It’s unbearable, he thinks to himself, ridiculous and dangerous. But somehow, he doesn’t really see the way out. Maybe a transfer. But running away isn’t really a Ronaldo-thing to do, is it?

*

The days trickle down, matches go well, life goes well. Sergio has fun with his friends, hangs out with Iker a lot, chats up women when he has a free night, has sex with them, great sex often – and, to his own shock, occasionally thinks about Cris while he does. Wonders what Cris’s lips would feel like, what Cris skin would feel like, how the difference would feel, with a man, not just the obvious difference in the act himself, which is something he’d rather not imagine, but the subtle things. There would be stubble against his cheeks. A different scent in his nose. No soft breasts but a flat, toned chest. No high pitched whine but low growls. Whenever he notices just what he is thinking about, he gets confused, has to literally shake the thoughts out of his head, blushing bright red, a blush the women luckily just attribute to the exhaustion of their love making. Sergio knows better and he doesn’t understand himself anymore. Sometimes, he considers approaching Iker, but he doubts that the goalkeeper has more of a clue about these things than he does himself. Can you really just turn gay overnight in your twenties? Even if you’ve never felt a thing for a guy ever before? And it’s not like he hasn’t been surrounded by half-naked, gorgeous men for years now. Not like there wouldn’t have been occasions. He’s genuinely never felt the least bit of desire. Nonetheless, when Cris stands close to him, on the pitch or in the dressing room, there’ll always be the twisting feeling in his stomach. A feeling that if it wasn’t so ridiculous, he’d describe as butterflies in his stomach. Most of the time, it’s terrifying, but sometimes, in his bravest moments, he actually finds it pretty exciting and on even rarer occasions, he allows himself a brief fantasy on how it could be. If Cris wasn’t a man. Or his teammate. Or if they just weren’t famous football players. And then reality catches up with him, brutally chasing off the impossible dreams.

*

Cris tries his luck with a few more meaningless encounters, even attempting to pick up guys that resemble Sergio, but it’s not helping his case. Sometimes, he considers talking to someone about it. Then he remembers that he’s a popular football player and risks his entire career, his life, anything he’s hoped, dreamed and worked for with such a confession should he confide in the wrong person. So he keeps fighting his lonely battle and for a few weeks, it seems like he has a chance of doing that with success. Until they lose. All of them. Against Barcelona of all teams. And not even in Barcelona, but on their own grounds. It’s a disaster, a burning shame and a felt hell on earth, the 2-0 feeling like the end of the world. Cris is the last of them in the shower, still hoping for the water to somehow rinse off the embarrassment, the pain, the frustration. He’s still standing there, forehead against the tiles, most of the voices from the dressing room faded out a while ago, when a soft voice behind him makes him jump and almost slip.

”You should go home.”

His eyes stare at Sergio, who is leaning against the doorframe, still with a towel around his waist, the streaks of his hair still dripping, little rivulets making their way down the gorgeous, muscular chest until they’re swallowed by the fabric of the white towel and Cris stares and loses himself until a cough from Sergio makes him realize what he’s done, eyeing his teammate in such an inappropriate way and his cheeks burn with shame.

”Sorry. I’ll be out of here in a second. Don’t worry about me, just go already.” He’s blabbering, stuttering, making matters worse and all he wants to do Is turn back around, fix his eyes back on the tiles, but he can’t because he’s captivated by the way Sergio is standing there.

”I- maybe… yeah… I probably shouldn’t be here,” he hears the Sevillan mutter – but Sergio doesn’t move an inch. So their eyes stay locked and all over sudden, the spark is back, that little spark of something that makes it seem as if Sergio is actually interested, too.

And Cris has no idea what’s gotten into him, but he cannot help doing it, trying it now, before the spark is gone again.

”Or,” he starts with a hoarse voice, swallowing down a lump quickly, “would you rather join me here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think _you_ might have used that title/song already and if so, I hope you don't mind.


	3. Esta noche voy contigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much! The feedback means the world to me and I'm so, so happy ♥
> 
> I honestly don't know if there will be more anytime soon, because for now, I think I want to finish my "Sernando" first... maybe I'll return to these two afterwards, because to be honest, they're damned hot to write ;) ♥

Sergio feels paralyzed for a moment, his eyes locked with Cris’s intently, no questions left because Cris’s face is giving it away, all the answers clearly written there. Sergio wonders how long Cris has been feeling this way, for how long the Portuguese has been craving this. Then he wonders how long he has been longing for this, or at least the chance to have this. Consciously, he hasn’t yearned for it at all, but somehow he is sure that in the back of his mind, he’s been looking for this moment ever since they first met. And he is not looking at Cris the way he used to, much less the way he looks at the other guys, his eyes are travelling over the other man’s body, mapping it, taking in the lines and scars, the way his toned chest is heaving, the way the muscles of his stomach twitch under Sergio’s gaze, the way the water runs down over the smooth skin. The unmistakable reaction in his lap, the pooling warmth, the tell-tale twitch is waking him from his character study, pulling him back to reality and when he looks back into Cris’s eyes, dark, unbelievably dark eyes and sees the other lick his lips ever so slowly, Sergio’s decision is made in a split-second.

*

Cristiano has seen the way Sergio looked him up and down, stared with obvious interest, cheeks flushed, lip between his teeth and the sight is making his heart hammer into his chest, because first, it’s hot as hell and second, he’s dying with nervousness, craving this so bad right now, his hopes grown infinitely, that if Sergio now decided against it, against them, he’d probably just die from a broken heart. Thus, there were rocks falling from his chest when the Sevillan drops the towel and closes the gap between them, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. They stare at each other and Cristiano sees his own disbelief mirrored in Sergio’s eyes. It’s not the disbelief about what’s apparently going to happen, but more the incredibility that it took them so long to get to this point, Cristiano thinks and that’s about all he can think right now, because his entire focus, all his concentration is gathered in the skin under Sergio’s fingertips, the touch almost burning him. And he really cannot wait any longer, so he reaches out, finger tracing over Sergio’s jaw and then holding up his chin, giving the Spaniard a last opportunity of retreat. When instead of his worst fear coming true, he gets a tiny nod in return, it’s all the encouragement he needs to lean forward, lips against Sergio’s. He is pulling the other’s head with him, both of them under the stream of water now, his eyes squeezed shut and Sergio’s most likely the same. Cristiano focuses on the soft feeling of Sergio’s lips, the way Sergio’s nails start digging into his shoulders, the way the water seems to surround them, hold them together right now.

*

He’s kissing a man. Sergio is kissing another man and he likes it, or so it seems, his cock half-hard. It’s a surprise, to say the least, but it’s not entirely unpleasant and since he’s not a coward or a conservative, he decides to accept this, allow this, whatever it may mean. Tentatively, still not completely sure about Cris’s experiences or the lines that are drawn right now, he parts his lips, happy to find that the striker responds eagerly. Their tongues explore greedily and it’s his signal to allow his hands to roam, travel lower on Cristiano’s back, feel of defined muscles there still new, strange even, but also not unpleasant at all. When Cris’s hands leave his face, running down his sides and sending shivers down his spine despite the hot water, Sergio releases a first soft moan into their kiss. A second, louder one, follows the moment Cris’s hands find his ass and press their bodies flush against each other. From head to toe. Meaning his cock is against Cris’s now and that’s a lot to process for the defender, feeling of another man’s crotch so close, realization that he finds it scorching hot and the spark of pride when he realizes Cris is rock hard – only because of him. He feels himself slowly shoved back until his shoulders bump against the wall and Cris now really takes over control, pressing him against the tiles, licking into his mouth as if there was no tomorrow and moving his hips in a way that makes Sergio desperate for release. He’s squirming in Cris’s hold and he thinks it is kind of embarrassing, being so needy, so wanton with a teammate but he’s too hard, painfully hard, to step away now. And deep down, he doesn’t want to, because he loves being here with Cris, drowning in the other’s smell, losing himself in the touch and so he just does his share, his arms tight around Cris back, holding him in place.

The striker wriggles himself free soon after though and pulls his head back, prompting Sergio to open his eyes. He finds the most beautiful sight, Cris’s dark eyes, pupils dilated, lips swollen and parted because he’s panting for air just like Sergio. The stare off only lasts a few seconds before Cris starts kissing his jaw, beginning of a long, excruciatingly slow journey down his body. Cris licks a line down his throat, playfully bites his nipples, litters his collarbones with kisses and all Sergio can do to not go insane is swear softly, gasp for air and clutch to Cris’s head as if there was no tomorrow. Without hesitation, his teammate sinks to his knees in front of him and the implication slowly dawns upon him, but with Cris’s tongue licking around his navel and his lips sucking little bruises on his hips, Sergio cannot think too much. He relies on instinct, releases a mix of low groans and small whines, because he is really desperate right now for something, anything. Cristiano must know and when Sergio mutters a helpless ‘please’, he finally feels Cristiano’s mouth on his shaft, tongue tracing a line before the soft lips close around his tip. It takes all of his self-restraint and Cris’s hands against his hip for him not to thrust straight away, because Cristiano feels good. And wow, the man knows what he is doing, Sergio thinks, because Cristiano licks and sucks in just the right place, using just the same rhythm and he can do things, that the girls Sergio usually hooks up with either cannot do or refuse to do, because he swallows him down whole, his nose in Sergio’s lap now.

*

Cristiano is overwhelmed, having Sergio in his hold, writhing, panting, swearing, at times even begging. It’s captivating and addictive and he can only pray that this won’t be a onetime only thing. It would simply break his heart if it was. Now that he knows just how good Sergio tastes, how delicious his little moans sound, how soft his lips feel, Cristiano can never miss him ever again. With the practice of many encounters, he drives Sergio towards the edge, not trying to tease too much, not trying to prolong things. He’d love to do that, actually, in a desire to savor every moment of this, make it last as long as possible, but he does vaguely still remember where they are and just how awkward it would be if someone found them and so he knows he has to be quick. Sergio’s hands are clutched in his shoulders, part of Cris hoping they’ll leave marks and bruises, wanting to be claimed and he moans around Sergio’s cock, knowing that the vibrations will only add to the Sevillan’s pleasure. He loves this feeling of being submissive, giving himself away, of pleasing and satisfying and revels in it, his own erection painfully hard. With his hands on Sergio’s hands, he encourages the striker to thrust into his throat and from here, it’s not long until he can tell by the ragged breathing above him, the twitching in the muscles of Sergio’s stomach and the pulsing of his cock that he is close. Sergio comes down his throat with a growl and despite the water from the shower, Cristiano keeps his eyes on him, wide open, all the time, marveling the sight of the usually composed man unravelling for him, because of him, entire body shuddering and knees obviously about to collapse. Almost absentmindedly, his focus still all on Sergio, Cristiano finishes himself off with a few determined strokes, coming over his hand with a moan of Sergio’s name. His vision fades for a moment and when he’s halfway back into reality, Sergio slides down the wall, coming to kneel in front of him, their chests flush again, rapid heartbeats vibrating through them and the water still streaming over them while they kiss, languidly, without any pressure, fingers laced at their sides. 

It’s a shame, he thinks to himself once the afterglow has faded, that they’re in a public space and he gets up from his aching knees, trembling on his legs and extends a hand to Sergio, pulling the defender up and along.

”We should get dressed before the cleaning staff comes.”

Sergio just nods and he cannot read his expression right now, which almost drives Cristiano insane, because he has to know what this means to the other. When they’re both fully dressed, everything happening wordlessly, they end up hovering next to each other in the doorway and Cris wonders what he is supposed to do now, to say now. Wonders whether he’s messed things up massively between them. He’s so lost in his thoughts, that he almost misses Sergio’s hand on his shoulder until he suddenly hears the Sevillan’s voice, slightly hoarse but still firm.

”Join me at mine tonight?”

If he wasn’t frozen to the spot by the meaning of the words, he’d jump at the other with joy. As it is, Cristiano only manages a wide smile and a nod.

”Sure, I’d love to.”

 _Esta noche voy contigo a soñar,_  
 _que el amor es nuestro y no termina_

**Author's Note:**

> Song/lyrics/quotes: Shakira


End file.
